


ding dong (the witch is dead)

by LadyMerlin



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Endgame: Tamaki/Kyouya/Haruhi, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Beta Read, Slice of Life, no relationships (yet) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: As his friend, this is something Kyouya can give Tamaki. No one else has to know.





	ding dong (the witch is dead)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the title of this is super on the nose, but the question is: "do I care about that enough to change it" and my answer is always "nah, not really", so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Warnings for mentions of past abuse (Tamaki) and less-than-stellar parenting (Tamaki and Kyouya). Spoilers for the end of OHSHC.

It’s a testament to the quality of Kyouya’s sources that he hears about the Suoh matriarch even before Tamaki does.

He books a flight – well. He has a flight booked for Tamaki to France in the same breath he uses to excuse himself from his advanced biochemistry practical, phone in hand. His teachers and classmates are accustomed to his frequent disappearances from class – everyone in Ouran understands that business comes first – so no one asks or objects. He doesn’t even bother with his bag. His security will handle it. The contents of the satchel are neither irreplaceable nor confidential anyway.

It’s by grace of his deep-seated need to know everything (Haruhi calls it a compulsion, which is such an ugly word) that Kyouya actually knows where Tamaki is at almost any given time during the day. This is something he takes pride in.

At 11:30am on Tuesday mornings, Tamaki has a literature class on the third floor auditorium of the Nekozawa Building furthest from the main office. It saves him a trip to the main receptionist, who would have clucked and poured her unwanted sympathies all over Kyouya, if he’d been forced to explain.

He doesn’t pick up anyone else from the Host Club along the way, because he doesn’t think Tamaki needs an audience for this, even if he thinks he wants one. Tamaki’s father – as nice as he seems (compared to Kyouya’s own father) – is hardly a model parent. He will only think to tell Tamaki when he gets home, in front of the family and the staff. Even that, as Kyouya knows from experience, is sometimes too much of an audience. Tamaki will be forced to disguise his emotions in one way or another.

As his friend – well. This is something Kyouya can give him. No one else has to know.

“Winslet-san,” he says, knocking gently on the doorframe of the auditorium, crisply enough to command attention. “May I excuse Tamaki-kun from your class for today?” He knows this teacher, through reputation if nothing else. She’s a soft touch for the catholic schoolboy trope, so he’d spared a minute around the corner to soften his hairstyle, and to hold his hands clasped neatly behind his back, appropriately submissive for her – frankly disturbing – tastes. Needs must, and all that.

“Ootori-kun, of course, dear child. I’ll drop you an email to let you know what Suoh-kun’s homework is, okay?” It’s not a question, and Kyouya wonders when he’d become Tamaki’s unofficial keeper around here. It’s not the first time he’s pondered the question, but he thinks he’s loved Tamaki for too long to find meaning in such an arbitrary time-line.

Tamaki’s smile is sunny and perfectly unstrained, but his eyes are wary. Not wary of Kyouya, of course, but because this is unusual, and his best friend has learned the hard way to be wary of surprises. “Host Club?” he asks once they’ve turned the same corner Kyouya came from. Kyouya shakes his head and pushes his hair back into place – the fringe over his eyes has started bothering him.

“Let’s go to the library downstairs.” The library in the Nekozawa building is dedicated to ancient Greek and Latin texts. No one will be using it until exam season, and even then it’s less popular than the other libraries, which are easier to access. It also has the added benefit of sound-proof study rooms, which Kyouya would honestly have expected to be more popular amongst the hormone-riddled population around here. It’s possible the idiots just haven’t figured it out, yet.

All the better. It’ll be private enough.

Tamaki follows him and doesn’t ask any questions. This, he knows, is trust. He offers a hand to hold, and Tamaki’s fingers are warm and soft in his own, and he can feel Tamaki’s pulse in his wrist, through his translucent skin. Anyone walking by could see them.

This too, is trust.

The library is, as expected, totally empty. Even the ancient librarian seems to have futzed off to somewhere, taking advantage of the total dearth of students in her realm. He sits down and Tamaki sits down beside him, but he doesn’t let go of his hand. This is perfectly fine with Kyouya. He’s not great with emotional comfort. Better let Tamaki take what he needs, rather than screwing it up with his own ineptitude – not that he’d ever admit it.

“I got a call today from someone in an Ootori hospital, about your grandmother, Tamaki.” He keeps his voice even. He knows he’s the bearer of some sort of news, but he’d much rather take the brunt of Tamaki’s reaction than abandon his friend to the tender mercies of people who… People who cared less for his well-being.

Tamaki’s hand twitches in his own, but his face remains perfectly placid, lips painted in a gentle smile. Kyouya wonders how he was ever fooled into thinking the man was an idiot. Well, he is an idiot in most things, but this level of acting is – it’s an incredible façade. Unparalleled, even.

“Is Obaa-sama okay?” he asks, sounding just invested-enough in the answer, but not too emotional. Kyouya supposes the emotions had been beaten out of Tamaki a long time ago. His tightened grip gives him away.

“She passed away about forty-five minutes ago. Apparently she just didn’t wake up this morning but continued breathing until a housekeeper found her and took her to hospital. They tried to resuscitate her but she passed in her sleep. They don’t suspect any foul-play. They think it was just old age. My father is investigating, just to be sure, of course.”

Tamaki doesn’t say anything, but he looks away from Kyouya, so Kyouya turns to look at him instead. Tamaki’s gaze is nailed to the table in front of him, but his hand is still in Kyouya’s own, and Kyouya tries out a gentle squeeze.

“She’s really gone?” Tamaki asks, under his breath. “Really?” he sounds like he doesn’t even dare to hope.

“Really,” Kyouya nods, and squeezes back.

“I can’t believe it,” Tamaki whispers, and Kyouya isn’t sure Tamaki is even talking to him anymore. “I can’t believe it – but you wouldn’t tell me this if you weren’t sure.” Kyouya shakes his head because Tamaki is right; he’d checked and double-checked before even leaving his own classroom.

“I – I don’t—” Tamaki stutters and struggles for words, conflict clearly writ on his face. He’s torn between filial loyalty – the woman had been his paternal grandmother after all, and relief chased by guilt. He squeezes Kyouya’s hand and Kyouya squeezes back.

“It’s okay to be relieved, Tamaki.” Kyouya thinks he would be, but he’s hardly the poster-child for healthy familial relationships, so who knows. He thinks Haruhi would be devastated beyond words if anything happened to her father, but by all accounts her father seems liked a very loving parent. Tamaki’s grandmother had been hateful her entire life, and she’d taken pleasure in spreading her hate to Tamaki as well.

Tamaki looks up at him with watery eyes. “Is it? I feel so sad for poor father,” and that’s really just typical. Kyouya tries to keep his thoughts to himself, tries to not express his disgust on his face, but his otherwise perfect mask fails him now. Tamaki huffs a laugh at the no-doubt incredulous look on his face.

“And what about for yourself? What do you feel?” Kyouya is many things but he is not a therapist, and still, he needs to know. He wants to know if his best friend/brother is alright.

“I’m just,” Tamaki starts and stops like his train of thought is refusing to leave the station. “I’m alright.” A tear rolls down his cheek as if to give the lie. “I’m confused?”

It occurs to Kyouya that his friend hasn’t thought of the final repercussion yet. “Tamaki, you can see your mother again.”

Tamaki freezes in his spot, eyes wide and fingers clenched in a vice grip around Kyouya’s own. “Mother?” he whispers, because obviously he hadn’t even thought of that.

“I’ve booked a ticket for you Tamaki. The flight leaves this evening. You must go to her, whether your father approves or not.” And this is something Kyouya knows is true. Tamaki’s father might be devastated by the loss of his mother (though why someone would miss a woman like that, he’s not sure) and it might be days before he thinks to allow his son to meet his mother. Kyouya doesn’t have the burden of grief, and his friend is his first and only priority.

“You’ve booked a ticket to France?” he asks, voice low and shaking. “For me?”

Kyouya doesn’t roll his eyes. Tamaki is clearly in shock. “Yes, Tamaki. I booked it on the way to your classroom. I knew you’d want to—”

He doesn’t even manage to finish the sentence before Tamaki is throwing himself at Kyouya, arms flying to wrap around his shoulders, face pressed into the crook of Kyouya’s neck. He can feel Tamaki’s tears falling on his shoulder, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just hugs back and lets Tamaki cry it out.

“Thank you so much, Kyouya.”

Kyouya allows himself one moment of weakness, a split second of it, and strokes Tamaki’s golden head. “You’re welcome, Tamaki. Now, go and get your excuse slip ready, so you can go home to pack.”

“Will you come with me?” Tamaki asks, totally ignoring his instructions and keeping his arms firmly around Kyouya’s back, like he’s some kind of limpet.

“I’m sure you want some time alone with your mother, Tamaki. I won’t bother you like that. You should spend time with her, and learn her again.”

“She’s my mother, Kyouya. I don’t need to learn her, I know her just as well as she knows me. Please come? I want you to meet her.”

Kyouya will definitely have to admit at some point that he’s already met Tamaki’s mother, but really he doesn’t see the harm in it. Tamaki instantly inflates, and it looks like he’s glowing from the inside, like if he opened his mouth bubbles would come out. That was the right answer, then. Kyouya nods. “I’ll bring Haruhi, too.”

Tamaki pauses, all his exuberance instantly on hold. He looks at Kyouya – he _really_ looks, like he can see straight into Kyouya’s soul. Honestly he hadn’t meant anything much by it. He knows that Tamaki adores her, and for good reason. He can totally understand why Tamaki would want her there, too. Whatever Tamaki sees in his face must satisfy him, because he doesn’t ask any questions. “Both of you, then,” he says.

Kyouya nods, and lets his best friend blaze a path through the school like the hounds of hell are at his heels. He’d much rather be going with Tamaki, directly to the airport even, but something tells him that his presence will be much needed in the school in the following week.

As usual, he’s not wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a part 2! I don't know when, but it will happen, at some point. It involves Haruhi, Kyouya, Tamaki and Tamaki's mom, with (at the moment) loads of pre-relationship angst, feat. self-sacrificing Kyouya, clueless Tamaki, and insecure Haruhi, for your reading pleasure. 
> 
> Comments & Kudos give me life.
> 
> Happy Hari Raya Haji!


End file.
